The Wild Borrower: a Borrower!lock fic [part 1]
Once upon a time, in a little cottage in Northumberland, there lived a humble man an his wife. He was the postmaster at the local post office, and she was a county historian. They loved each other very much, and they were very eager to start a family.
But this story really isn’t about them.
Tucked away in the corner of the historian’s cluttered office, between two floor-to-ceiling bookcases and behind stacks of historical documents and accounts, was an old grandfather clock. This clock was home to an althogether very different family, a tiny family—Mr. George Watson, his wife Margaret, and their two children. Mr. Watson’s job was one that’d been held by his father, and his father before him, back and back far longer than anyone could remember. It was a difficult and dangerous job, but a rewarding one—the payoff was the happiness of his family, the fullness of their tiny bellies, and the quality of their little lives.
His young son, John Watson, looked up to him like he had personally hung the clockface they lived behind. “When will you teach me how to Borrow, Da?”
“Not before he teaches me,” his older sister replied, sticking out her tongue at him. Harriet was a strange creature, active and rough and much more like a brother than a sister.
“We’ve been through this, Harriet dear,” Maggie replied sternly, setting down her bowl of parsnip stew on the table rather harder than she normally would have. “You are my pupil. You will learn to cook and sew and craft things, because one day you will be married and you must be able to use anything that your husband will borrow to its best potential.”
Harry made a face—they all knew well how she felt about marriage. “I bet the Wild Borrowers let their girls do whatever they want, and don’t make them marry if they don’t want to,” she muttered. John groaned. Her obsession with Wild Borrowers was really stupid.
“There is no such thing as a Wild Borrower, Harry. It’s just a fairytale,” John sniffed.
“Nonsense!” George said with a haruff. “My great-uncle Chesterfield once had tea with an entire tribe of nomadic Wild Borrowers! He told us the story every year.”
“Every year at Yule, after he was already deep into his cups,” Maggie muttered. An argument ensued, two-against-two. John thought it was quite fun. He always liked seeing his mother turn that interesting shade of red (as long as it wasn’t at him and accompanied with a wooden spoon on his behind.)
It was not a perfect family, but it was theirs, and they were happy.
.
They were happy, as time passed by and they all grew older. John (and later a smugly triumphant Harry) learned to Borrow with their father. Maggie’s hair turned gray as she regularly wrapped cracked ribs, put plasters on cuts, and healed aches and pains on three reckless Borrowers. “When will any of you get a shred of common sense?” she exclaimed as George and Harry strolled in with a hopping, grinning John supported between them, happily suffering from a sprained ankle and deep bruising.
John was happy, growing from a Borrower teenager to a Borrower adult. He was, truly! Mostly happy. Often happy. He tried to be happy.
It was just that Borrowing had began to feel safe, predictable, and boring—he was restless for something new and exciting. He wanted to have an adventure. It made him take ridiculous risks, which usually ended in injury, an argument, and boxed ears.
“I bet you’d believe in Wild Borrowers now, if doing so would mean they’d show up and whisk you away,” Harry drawled, sprawled out on the attic windowsill soaking up the rare sunshine. Harry was different than she was as a child, she was a woman now—fit and curvy and more feminine than anyone would have belived of the rough-and-tumble tomboy she’d once been. It was true that she Borrowed just as well as George and John; she could pull her weight up a grappling hook and scale the length of the clock faster than anyone. But she also liked to sew her own dresses and kept her hair long, to braid it in increasingly more elaborate ways.
“Ten years and you’re still harping on about that kid stuff,” John complained, but it was half-hearted. “Except I think you might be right.”
“You know what the funniest thing is about you being all maudlin like this? Mum and Dad always figured it would be me wanting to get out of here, to go find adventure somewhere beyond this place. And you were always so attached to Da, they probably thought they’d never be rid of you.” She rolled up her dress hem to sun her lean legs. “And now here we are, me ready to move up to the rafters with Clara and you chomping at the bit to get out.”
John paused beside her, where he had been practicing his sword technique with the needle his Da had borrowed and transformed from the Bean woman’s sewing kit. “Don’t say it like that. I don’t hate the clockface, it’s my home. If only the clockface was in London, I would be content to stay there forever.”
Harriet scoffed. “And you chide me for the Wild Borrowers thing ... if I had a thread for every time you brought up London I’d have enough to sew the Bean woman a new wardrobe.”
“But can’t you imagine it, Harry? Beans wherever you look, those big rumbling machines, other Borrowers, next door and above you and below you! Excitement whenever you wanted it, all you have to do is leave the Borrower hole.” He’d sat down at some point and was staring earnestly out at the trees and the flowers and the bumblebees—but seeing buildings and busy streets and Beans in their stead.
Harry just snorted.
.
Another few months went by, and John continued to try to be happy with his boring, predictable life—and, failing in this, at least tried to hide his restlessness from his parents.
And then, finally, something wonderful happened.
After years of trying, the Bean family was finally going to be increased by one—the news had been delivered in the historian’s library, so the Watson family had been privy to the entire conversation behind the clock face.
The Bean woman was planning on going to London at the end of the month, to stay with her mother and father for a few weeks. She would see a very important Bean doctor and let her parents dote on her.
John had dropped his fork in shock. To London! Suddenly, an impossible dream became an exciting possible reality. John didn’t quite know how he would manage it exactly, but he knew in that moment that he would do whatever it took to go with her.
A week later, when he announced his intentions over dinner, his parents understandably were quite distraught. Harry was angry. But they loved him, and wanted him to be happy, so they could do nothing else but support his decision.
Between the four of them, they began to plan.
.
“Well, this is it.”
John Watson stood at the entrance to his family’s Borrower hole under the clock, a cloth travel pack on his shoulder and his trusty healer’s kit at his hip. Around the other side, his needle-sword hung from his belt.
Margaret Watson clung tearfully to her husband, blowing her snub nose on her handkerchief. “My boy, I don’t know where you get your adventurous nature, but it’s not healthy for a good Borrower!” At her side, George Watson sighed, for this was far from the first time the family had heard this. She had made a point of saying it to John at least twenty times a day, ever since he’d decided that he wanted to leave for London, that he craved an adventure and new surroundings. She looked highly offended at the noise. “What, George? It’s not! It’s your fault, the way you taught him your irresponsible Borrowing skills, and I stand by that, I do!” She let go of him and turned away, returning the handkercheif to her face as a new wave of tears struck.
John sighed fondly and gathered her up in his arms, being mindful of his sword. “Mum, I can’t help the way I feel. These last few years, it’s like I’ve been kept in the dark, with only a passing glance of the light outside our hole. I want to be in that light, I want to see what I can of the world before I find my own house and my own Bean family, and build my own Borrower nest.”
Margaret sobbed anew. “But I will never see you again! How will a poor mother know what’s become of her child if he leaves her forever? It’s not right. Who will take care of me in my old age?”
“Harry and Clara, of course. And you’ll take care of them. You’re family, that’s what you do.”
George stepped up beside his wife in a show of solidarity. “Son, you’re our family too. Who will take care of you when you leave us behind?”
John, having secretly practiced this moment ever since he’d set his mind on leaving, had his answer ready. “You will, every time I protect myself with the sword you made me, and Borrow using the skills you taught me. You will, Mum, every time I cook a meal or sew new belongings, the skills you gave me. You will both be there in every choice I make and every decision I reach, because you both raised me to be clever and good and kind. You will be with me always, and I will always love you.”
Predictably, Margaret burst into loud tears. Even George was misty-eyed, and they both embraced their son with vigor. “When did you become a man?” His father whispered, and then pushed John away, giving a manly grunt. “Right then, off with you. The Bean woman will be back any minute, and this goodbye will be pointless if you miss your ride. Go on, son. Be brave, have an adventure, and settle down with a nice city Borrower girl. And, who knows? Maybe someday we’ll meet again, and if we do you better have some grandchildren for us.”
Harriet punched him on the shoulder. “Say hello to the Wild City Borrowers for me,” she sniffed, looking haughty but clinging tightly to Clara.
“Still harping on that kid stuff,” John laughed, and embraced her tightly, whispering, “I will. Take good care of Mum and Da for me. I’ll miss you.”
Standing up and giving one last nod to the family he would see for the last time, John dashed out of the borrower hole and to the leather suitcase still open in the center of the room, his ride for the trip to the city. As planned, he headed straight for the Bean woman’s sewing kit, a smart little case full of lots of little pockets, perfect for a stowaway Borrower to hide in.
He heard the vibrations in the wooden floorboards as he was unzipping the corner of the sewing case, indicating that the Human Bean was coming back.
“Oh, quick John!” His mother hissed apprehensively, “She’s coming back!”
John dove between the open teeth of the zipper, just managing to zip the case back up before the Bean entered the room, placed the item she had been fetching in her suitcase, and shut it firmly. John was encased in darkness, heart thudding madly in his chest, and thought, This is it. I actually did it. I’m going to the city, I just saw my Mum and Dad for the last time ...
And there, in the rolling darkness of the moving suitcase, John finally cried, tears of joy and of loss both.
.
